


confessional

by Anonymous



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Incest, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:48:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29186556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "Do you hate me?""What type of fucking question is that?"
Relationships: Dirk's Bro | Alpha Dave Strider/Dave Strider
Kudos: 11
Collections: Anonymous, Stridercest Server Jams





	confessional

**Author's Note:**

> Dave's mid to late teens but it's left ambiguous.

D leans back against the headboard, exhaling out the smoke from his no-brand cigarette. Doesn't look at anything in particular, not the unadorned walls or the passed-down bedspread or the body curled with all the sheets besides him. 

There's a newly familiar quietness in him. A deliberate blankness following the hunger and frustration that leads him back here time after time. If he were anything but what he is then he might think on it but-

He is not kind.

Orange eyes and painted black half-smiles: D is only good to who it matters. He knows that is not kindness. Exhales another lungful of smoke. The room still had traces of the cheap cigarette stench when he slipped in some hours ago and there's a perverse satisfaction in knowing that he's only renewing the blackening on its occupants. Stains like smoke and bruises like mirrors.

A little gasp of breath sounds next to him, only perceptible in the dead silence. D closes his eyes. The kid's been much better lately, barely makes a noise even when he does cry. Guess it was too much to ask for his luck to hold out. 

D doesn't acknowledge it. These days the boy is just as likely to stay silent as try to fill in the silences. D leaves him alone but after a few more minutes there's still shuffling. Breathes that much heavier and curls up tighter in the way D knows is belying the need to talk. He sighs heavily.

"What?"

The boy doesn't respond right away, despite all the work up, and D feels his own tension growing for each moment without a word. A full minute passes before the question is finally blurted out, right as D begins to move his hand, "Do you hate me?"

Well. He certainly didn't expect  _ that _ . Not at this point, anyway. 

"Do I... seriously, kid? Are you really asking that?" 

Finally the kid turns to glare at D and there's nothing kid-like about how D's still-out dick twitches at the display. His red eyes are sparked with rage and D feels the all consuming desire to crush him, break him, fuck him until they go back to being dead and familiar. Da- this brother's the only one who's ever seen this side of D's hunger and almost falters at it before driving on,

"Just why do you--" his voice breaks with the sentence, swallows, "--why do you do this?"

_ Shut me up, hurt me, rape me _ . 

He won't say it. Not even now with no one else but the two of them, with fresh bitemarks and bruises and the slick of a recent fuck still on him. 

D supposes he should be grateful, in a way, but the truth is that he knew it would be the case since Bro left the kid half dead on D's doorstep a year ago. He could hurt him over and over and over and this kid won't say a word for some fucked up reason. Loyalty, maybe. Poor sucker.

D takes a deep drag of the cigarette and blows it up at the smoke stained ceiling, sighs.

"What kind of answer do you think you're looking for?"

"I'm not-"

"What do you want me to say? That I hate you? That it's frustrating as hell to look after the mistake Bro didn't even bother finishing off himself? Will that make you feel better?" D twists his mouth into an ugly sneer, dropping his head back down to look at the teenager who flinches from the look and the words. Doesn't stop, "Or how about this? I don't hate you. I don't care about you at all. You're just a convenient body I'm already paying for. Is that what you want to hear?

"Does that make you feel better?"

The boy's face is cold like ice but D can see the clench of his jaw, the minute waver to his bitten lips, the burning in his eyes from tears or rage or both and the look drops into the bottom of D's stomach like guilt, like arousal. He's never wanted like this, never hated like this. 

"God," he says, "What type of fucking question is that?"

He could think about how his mind scatters around the weight of the question but there are more attractive things to focus on. Like the impudent set at the corner of the kid's mouth, the slim figure, the bruises blossoming on the pale skin of his hips. Stubs his cigarette on the little nightstand ashtray with one hand while matching the fingers of his other to the bruises.

Presses.

He's rewarded with a sharp intake of breath as his fingers dig deeper. It goes down his spine straight to his cock.

D  _ wants _ .

Uses that same hand to pull the body over and down, climbing over to settle once more between the legs. Drops his other hand down to run across the tense muscles of a thigh before hooking under the knee to raise it. D's cock is the gross kind of tacky but hard and good in his hand and the hole is probably still messy enough that it won't be too uncomfortable. For him at least. 

Lines his cockhead up with the still red rim and strokes himself. Asks, idly, "Do you hate me?"

He doesn't get a response but it doesn't matter when it feels so good to penetrate back into the tight heat. The lack of fresh lube results in an almost unpleasant drag but that just riles D up more. Teases his head in and out of the entrance for only a few moments before bottoming out in one thrust.

There's a hitched gasp from further up but he ignores it.

If D were with a normal lover or bed partner this would be the time he would try to find a rhythm, but since he's not there's nothing stopping him from jackhammering into the small body beneath him. From holding it in place as he slams into it chasing after his own pleasure. Admires the way, even in the dark of the room, he can see the too pale skin darken with blood under his hands. There's nothing particularly appealing in the skinny limbs and bony torso yet something about the old scars and new discolorations littering the entire body fills him with hunger.

It's disgusting. He keeps fucking.

For a moment his gaze slips up to the face. D doesn't usually look at it, during fucking or in general, tries not to really. Hates seeing cry, hates seeing it try so hard to keep up a stoic façade like it isn't being used as a fleshlight, hates seeing it. But there's something else right now around the narrowing of the eyes, something in the clench of the jaws.

"You didn't answer me."  _ Do you hate me? _

Watches the mouth open, close, bite the side of the lip. This time the lack of response grates.

Digs his fingers into the bruises and squeezes.

D can see his teeth grind and red eyes flash and fucks harder. Hitches the leg over his shoulder, grabs the hip by purple bruises, rams his cock back into the welcoming heat, and demands again,  _ "Do you hate me?" _

A strangled sob of pain then-

"I hate you," Dave whispers. Quietly, barely audible from his gasping breath. Then louder, "I hate you, I hate you, _ I hate you, I HATE YOU!" _

Dave's screaming at him and D can barely spend a moment to be grateful Dirk's out tonight because he's too hard, too heated for his own skin. Tucks his face into the crook of the slender neck to bite the flesh there, nearly bending Dave in half. Tastes salt and skin and blood. Dave's hot and tight and still so fucking furious, still screaming directly into D's ear- it's the most animated he's ever seen the kid and he  _ loves  _ it. His nails are raking down D's back in a way that will surely leave marks and D groans, pressing cheek to cheek to whisper right back,

_ "Good." _

And Dave's voice breaks, not so much a sob as hiss, while D's hips stutter and then he's coming harder than he remembers for the second time tonight. Drives down hard and holds Dave's hips and torso flush against his own as he rides out the rest of his orgasm. Stops. Breathes heavily and licks chapped lips.

"Good," D says again, a soundbite on repeat, "Good. You should."

D takes a deep breath and pulls up and back. Watches himself pull out of the abused red hole, then up to the purple-black mess on the hips, then the almost mauled neck. Finally drags his gaze to the tear streaked face. It's red and wet and there's absolute hatred in Dave's eyes. D drinks it in, somewhere between ravenous and satisfied, and feels his lips twist up.

"I'm glad you do."

**Author's Note:**

> The real question Dave can't ask is if Bro hates him.


End file.
